


you can always find me here

by crimsonpeak2015



Category: Succession (TV 2018)
Genre: F/M, Pegging, Porn with Feelings, i had to fill the void, im genuinely shocked there's no pegging fic in this fandom, roman finally gets pegged!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-21
Updated: 2019-11-21
Packaged: 2021-02-25 02:34:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21510112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsonpeak2015/pseuds/crimsonpeak2015
Summary: She has always, since the beginning, known exactly what he needs. He never had to ask, and he’s always felt grateful for that. Grateful for everything. He feels, at times, like he doesn’t deserve her, doesn’t deserve this. He needs to prove himself to her, prove that she hasn’t placed her faith in the wrong person. Prove that what they’re creating isn’t set on shaky foundations. He wants to be certain that he’s worthy of belonging to her.
Relationships: Gerri Kellman/Roman "Romulus" Roy
Comments: 9
Kudos: 78





	you can always find me here

**Author's Note:**

> the fact that there was not one single pegging fic was so astounding i felt compelled to write one just out of. obligation to j smith cameron. i didn't proofread this or anything bc i wrote it instead of doing my hw, and i did have trouble actually getting to the pegging bit bc i got too caught up in emotional internal monologuing ofc. 
> 
> i hope you enjoy!!!! please leave comments they literally mean the world to me
> 
> title from 100 years by fatm

He can’t focus on anything, has never been able to. Always failed in school because he just couldn’t do it. At work he sits there at his desk and tries for hours, he really does. But the best he seems to be able to do is blow up a satellite. He sits there and squirms and bounces and goes to the bathroom to jack off even though he’s not hard, because everything is so dull and so fast and he finds himself always shutting off. 

He finds himself always texting Gerri. Texting her about everything and nothing, texting her because she listens. He can hear her voice is his head when she replies, knows her cadence and her inflections, how her tones change. Even just the echo of her in his mind is soothing, sending a sort of strange calm rippling through him. 

He can’t focus on anything, except when he can. And when he can, there’s nothing in the world that can shift his sights. He can’t stop thinking about her, hasn’t been able to think of anything else for days, weeks, months (who the fuck knows anymore). He thinks about her in his office, fixed, stares through the glass for hours just hoping she’ll pass by so he can catch a glimpse of her. He bounces his leg. When he’s not looking at her, he aches. He’s in a constant and unwavering state of missing her, almost afraid that if she’s not with him he’ll forget. Forget the way her hair glistens in the sun and the way her eyes catch the warm light and turn it cold with their blue. He has to know everything about her, all the places her body folds and bends when she leans over to pick up a pen; the precise way her ankle twists as she hooks her foot around her leg to scratch her calf.

He watches her always, studies her harder than he’s ever studied for anything in his life. Not in a creepy way, at least he hopes. He likes to think he knows when he’s being creepy; he may be a creep but at least he’s a self aware one, right? He wonders, in a sick way, if this is what Kendall feels like about coke. This feeling of twisting unrest that he gets when he’s not near her, or when he’s not thinking about her. She keeps him steady and stable, calmly anchors him to the ground before he flies out of control. In his fucked up way, needs her to feel human. He feels frenzied, thinks he might be going crazy. 

He’s startled when she pokes her head through the door, but it’s replaced rapidly by a sort of nervous calm. 

“Knock knock” she says even though he’s sure she knows that she is always welcome. The one person he always wants to see. 

He can’t help the smile that breaks on his face, though he tries to keep it small. He doesn’t want her to know exactly how giddy and soft she makes him with just those two words. 

“You can’t just barge in here whenever you’re wet, Gerri. I can’t drop all of the have important work I have just to fuck you.” He puts far too much effort into sounding nonchalant. 

She takes that as an invitation to enter. It is. 

“You certainly look very busy,” she says pointedly, raising an eyebrow and eyeing his completely empty desk. 

He sits up straight and gestures around him “I just need a clean and organized space to produce all of my genius ideas. As a mere lawyer you wouldn’t understand.”

She pulls up a chair to sit across from him.

“I’m sure.” she says cooly, and he can’t believe how quickly he goes from happy to see her to buzzing with arousal. 

He doesn’t know what the fuck is wrong with him, why he reacts to her like that. He’s never not turned on by her. It’s a persistent thrumming in his chest that seems to make his bones ache. The moment she speaks to him he becomes something else, something animal. He is reduced to a thing that exists only to please her and be used by her. He feels a shift in him, a shift to a truer, base version of himself that only she has ever known. This part of him belongs to her. 

“What’s up?” he asks, can’t remember if they had something scheduled, if something happened with the business that needs discussing. 

She leans forward and catches his eye and he things his lungs might have shut down. He can’t read her face, never could. He loves never knowing what's going on in her mind, yearns to know what she’s thinking at all times. He admires her composure. No one else he knows has any (Shiv only thinks she does), but he has the least of all of them. He wishes he were unreadable, unknowable like Gerri, resents the way he seems to wear his heart on his sleeve in front of her. 

“Your dad wanted me to tell you that if you don’t start doing your job he’s going to call Frank.” 

He scoffs and throws his head back dramatically. 

“Bullshit. He’s been fired what? 3 times now? Not even Frank likes to deepthroat that much.” 

Gerri leans back and crosses her legs, tilting her head to the side with the hottest goddamn unimpressed expression on her face. Their interactions are always something of a puzzle; he can never quite figure out when she’s actively trying to turn him on. She knows him so well, though, must know how she affects him, even when she’s not trying. 

“I was sent to inquire as to why you’re being so unproductive, though I’m not entirely sure I want to find out.” she looks him up and down. “Just based on the frankly shocking amount of bathroom breaks you’ve taken.”

“Well, Ger, I’m sorry if hydration isn’t important to you, but my body is a -what do the flower fuckers say?- temple. This much sexy takes effort.” 

She’s taken to ignoring him now, he loves this part. 

Her tone grows softer and deeper and she looks at him seriously. 

“He’s not happy, Rome. And if I go in there and tell him that you’ve missed all of your deadlines because of ‘hydration’ he's gonna come in here himself.” 

“He’s not gonna like my answer.” He chuckles softly, resigned. He glances down at the bulge in his pants, hopes Gerri can’t see how hard he is. 

“Jesus Christ Roman.”

“What do you want me to do? Do you think I enjoy this?” 

She smirks but doesn’t respond.

“Look, Roman. Get some work done, some actual solid work done, and if you do, you can come over tonight.” 

She leaves without giving him time to react, and he watches her walk out. How the fuck does she expect him to get shit done now. Fucking ice bitch.

But he’s determined to try now, he thinks that he can focus on it, for her. He would do anything if she asked. He would get the length of his dick tattooed on his forehead if she asked. He craves her pleasure, her happiness, her approval. He wants to be good for her, wants to be smart for her, wants to be better for her. He feels held by her, though they don’t touch. He feels safe in her words. 

He’s never trusted someone before. He trusts her in an urgent way, feels a hot pressure from somewhere inside of himself, cracking him open, telling him to give up everything his has and everything he is to her. He trusts her with his life, with his soul, more than he trusts even himself with it. 

She has always, since the beginning, known exactly what he needs. He never had to ask, and he’s always felt grateful for that. Grateful for everything. He feels, at times, like he doesn’t deserve her, doesn’t deserve this. He needs to prove himself to her, prove that she hasn’t placed her faith in the wrong person. Prove that what they’re creating isn’t set on shaky foundations. He wants to be certain that he’s worthy of belonging to her. 

He actually gets work done. A lot of it. He doesn’t think he’s ever been this productive in his life. He wants to call her, like a little boy who got an A on his math test. He wants to tell her and he wants to hear her voice warm with a pride that she’d never admit. He really considers it, pulling his phone out, thumb hovering over her name. 

But he doesn’t want to wreck tonight, whatever it is Gerri means. He wonders, getting hot and shaky, if she’ll do something special tonight, as a reward. Maybe she’ll finally let him eat her out, grabbing his hair and forcing his head between her thighs, not letting him breath until she’s finished. He’s dreamed of watching her come. His tongue in her cunt, his Last Meal. Maybe she’ll touch herself, make him watch. Maybe she’ll sit on the sofa with him and they’ll just talk for hours about small, quiet things. 

He doesn’t care. All that matters is that she wants him there, at her house. That she wants him to do well. That she’s proud of what he’s done, even if it barely amounts to anything to anyone else. She’s the only one that seems to understand how even the smallest successes are important when you never accomplish anything. 

He gets in the car and tells the driver where to go. It dawns on him that his driver probably knows about him and Gerri from the amount of times he’s gone over there, the number of calls he’s given her, the frantic way he talks to her. He doesn’t give a fuck; the driver knows not to breathe a word, his life depends on it. 

He practically flies out of the car and up to her front porch, leans on the doorbell obnoxiously until she pulls open the door with a scowl. Her hair is tousled and she has no makeup on, and her face looks wonderfully soft. Her shoes and stockings are off and she’s so beautiful he can hardly stand it.

“Little shit” she sneers with a hint of a smile brushing her lips and widens the door to let him in. He struts in cockily, likes to pretend that they start out on equal footing. He doesn’t take his shoes off as he flings himself onto the couch, because he knows how snippy she is about shoes on the carpet and he likes to get under her skin. It’s the only way to phase her. She doesn’t say anything, just glares and sits down near him. 

“So you got your work done?” Her tone is patronizing.

“Of course I did. Who do you think I am? Fucking Connor? Come on.” 

She laughs, and he melts. He wants to make her laugh forever. It’s a sort of crack in her facade that makes her just a little bit more human. He wants to be full of that laugh. 

“I’m going to get changed, I’ll be back in a sec.” She breathes out as she starts up. 

He waggles his shoulders and flashes his most charming smile. “Can I come too?”

She rolls her eyes but doesn’t say no, so he follows, scampering like a puppy behind her. He can’t believe that she’s letting him see her change, didn’t think this was part of the deal. He doesn’t even think he wants to go there, it’s too much, it’s too real, it’s too fast. He reminds himself to relax, to trust this woman who has always understood exactly what he needs, who he is. She would never go that far without knowing he wanted it. He trusts her, he trusts her, he trusts her. 

They get to her room and it’s just as pristine as he imagined, nothing out of place and everything matching. It’s so Gerri, and he feels immediately awash with serenity, to be here in her space, in her. It occurs to him he should feel awkward, but he can’t find a trace of discomfort. She pulls some pajamas out of a drawer and goes into the bathroom, locks the door. He wants to make a joke about her being the one locked in the bathroom now, but decides to poke around her shit instead. Outwardly to piss her off, but deep down he wants to know her better. What her life is outside of work and outside of him. He realizes he knows nothing about her and she knows everything about him. He feels less terrified by the concept than he probably should, but who cares. Photographs of Baird and her daughters are scattered around, along with some crystal ornaments and things. He opens draws to see her clothes, to smell them. 

He just stands there for a moment with a skirt on his face, letting the dark and the scent soothe him. He puts it back and finds her perfume. He’s alarmed by his urge to drink it, replaces it hurriedly, moves on. He opens a drawer by her bed, and holy shit. He hit the fucking jackpot. He pulls out a bottle of lube and some vibrators, tosses them on the bed haphazardly. He hears the water running and knows she’ll be out any minute. He doesn’t bother trying to put the toys back, instead keeps sifting through the shit in the drawer. 

A strap on. A fucking strap on. No fucking way. He sits on the edge of the bed just holding it. He hears the lock click and Gerri steps out of the bathroom. 

“Are you fucking serious, Roman?”

She doesn’t sound enraged, doesn’t sound embarrassed, just really frustrated. Like when you come home and find your cat tore up the couch. 

He turns, shock still scrawled on his face. 

“You horny bitch!” he almost laughs.

She crosses her arms and shifts her weight to one leg, looks at him intensely. He burns under her gaze. 

“Clean up the mess you made.” 

Her words send a rush of heat through his blood and he almost whines. He’s compelled by a force outside himself, feels like he’s not in control of his body as he collects all the toys and stuffs them back in the drawer. The strap on is still on his lap. He holds it up, still grinning. 

“Is that what you want?” She asks and it sounds genuine, non judgemental, a business question. 

“I…”

He pauses and the desire to be taken like that, by her, intoxicates him, makes him feel almost feral. He’s embarrassed by the urgency in which he nods, can’t even make eye contact with her for the shame of wanting this. More than he’s ever wanted anything in his life. He needs it. 

“Use your words.”

“Yeah.”

Her eyes narrow and he starts to walk toward her, practically stumbling. His legs feel numb, he can barely walk. 

“Yeah what?”

He exhales deeply and looks up at her, head hung.  
“Fuck me.”

Her eyes drop to his dick, swollen and sticky even through his pants.

“Roman, you’re not ready for this.”

“Bullshit.” he’s about to get onto his knees and plead. He can’t get the idea out of his head now, the hunger to be completely split open and ruined by her. He wants it so bad, every cell is his body is begging, he yearns and aches. 

“Please,” she scoffs. “Look at you. you’re practically coming already. Useless piece of shit, you wouldn’t last a second.” 

He tries to respond, but barely gets out a syllable before Gerri cuts him off.

“Don’t try to argue with me, I know better than anyone how inept that little dick of yours is. You better prove me wrong, Roman, or I’m not going to be happy.”

He reaches for his belt, tugs it off frantically and shoves his pants down.

“Get on your knees, and don’t make a sound.”

She moves over to grab the toy and the lube and he wonders what else she’s used it for, who else. His whole body is pounding now, and he leans forward onto his elbows. The humiliation of this, him on the floor with his ass up, starving for her to fuck him till he’s nothing. 

It feels like forever, just waiting there for her. Suddenly he feels a soft brush on his lower back where his shirt has fallen forward. He shivers. 

“Have you ever done this before?” she asks carefully and they’ve never, ever been this close, this connected. He’s never felt more vulnerable in his life. 

“Been railed in the ass by my dad’s lawyer? No I wouldn’t say so.”

“Okay I need you to take a deep breath.”

He inhales deeply and feels sharp pressure as she enters him, slowly. She does it gently, hooking just her thumbs at his hips to guide him back. He feels his lungs burning and remembers he forgot to breath out. His exhale is hard and fast and she hums softly in approval. ‘Good job,’ that’s what that means, he’s positive. ‘You’re doing so well.’ 

“You think you can take all of it, bitch boy?” she snaps and he feels a certain sense of relief, that this doesn’t change anything. That they’re not really having sex; they’re just playing their game. 

He grunts out a “yeah” and he wonders if she’s smiling. 

She stops moving and he shudders around her. He feels so full, so full he might overflow. He can’t handle it. Can’t handle that it’s Gerri, that it’s her that’s inside of him, filling him up to the brim. He needs more. He wants to be so full of her that he bursts, disintegrates into her. He begins to rock and his cock is leaking all over the place. He reaches behind him to rub himself but Gerri commands sharply, “No.”

He whines and she grips his hair, tugging his head up. 

“You really need this that bad?”

“Yeah”

“You’re absolutely vile, aren’t you?”

“Yeah”

Gerri’s words are fading and he doesn’t even care, just wants to hear her voice, the feeling of her moving inside him. She’s thrusting hard now, gripping his hip with one hand. An anchor. She is holding him steady, grounding him, keeping him right where she knows he needs to be. There’s a safety in the way she digs her nails into the soft flesh she finds there, in the sting of it. That this, right now, is real. And he is real, and he is present. It’s as much a call to focus, to center himself, as it is a mark of ownership. And oh, to be owned by her, the knowledge that she’ll always be watching over him, making sure that he doesn’t disappear into himself. As he so often does. He can’t bear it. 

She tugs at his hair again, pulling him up onto his hands. She releases and he doesn’t have time to miss the pain because she shoves her fingers into his mouth. They are warm and almost gagging him, and he sucks and sucks, trying to push pleasure into them like he’s giving her a blowjob. 

He’s never been less empty. He wants to stay just like this, completely and utterly full of Gerri, till the house collapses on them, so that they never have to move, so that he can die right there with her inside of him, moving rough and firm. 

When he comes he thinks only of the energy that seems to be flowing from Gerri’s firm fingers into his mouth, from Gerri’s hips and into his, giving him new life, making his lungs open to the air. He imagines it’s Gerri’s blood that's pouring into his veins to pump in his heart. Like a vampire, turning him into something new, something heightend, something part of her, from her. 

His elbows give out and he bites his arm to keep from crying out. Gerri doesn’t pull out, just stays inside of him, making him full and complete, until his body stops jerking and shuddering, until his breath starts to steady. She removes herself slowly and gets up. He doesn’t know or care what she’s doing, can't move from his crumpled state on the carpet of her bedroom. 

“Was that what you needed?” she asks and in his haze her voice sounds kind. 

“Yeah. Yeah. Thank you”


End file.
